


Sowerbys and Snapdragons

by shipcestuous (x4ashes4ashes)



Category: The Secret Garden (1993), The Secret Garden - All Media Types, The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Genre: Brother/Sister Incest, F/M, Future Fic, Incest, It just happened, Sibling Incest, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i don't know what this is, light one-sided colin/mary mostly, yes dickon/mary incest don't look at me like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1729451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x4ashes4ashes/pseuds/shipcestuous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years after the events of the story, Dickon comes to work at Misselthwaite, and insists that Martha be allowed to join him, Colin, and Mary for their afternoons in the garden. Mary doesn’t adjust well to sharing his attention, and Dickon and Martha begin to realize the exact nature of their feelings for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sowerbys and Snapdragons

**Author's Note:**

> The only infringement I intend is upon your childhood. I would like to formally apologize to Frances Hodgson Burnett. You don’t deserve this. My hobbies include making dead authors turn in their graves and corrupting anything sacred. But it should be noted that this is almost a new standard in fluff. It is thoroughly unresearched, unless you count my background in being a viewer of Downton Abbey. This is compatible with movie canon, but I’ve used a lot of details from the book. Martha’s age is never given, so I’ve made her the youngest I thought possible – about 15 years old during the events of the novel/movie.

*********************

Given what it had done for their health and dispositions, Colin and Mary were permitted – or encouraged, rather – to roam wild and free across the grounds during their adolescence. With the help of Ben Weatherstaff and Dickon, they tended the secret garden until it teemed with life, bluebells and cockleshells and Empress-of-India lilies blanketing the floor while roses of all shades and shapes weaved through the trees and mounted the pretty stone walls. 

But when Colin reached his 14th year, Lord Craven decided it was time for him to be tutored – and once Colin realized this was the only way he would ever be able to pursue a career as a scientist – he quite agreed. Mary was more reluctant to relinquish their lively and peaceful days under the open skies – and even more so, Dickon’s company – but her uncle insisted, reassuring her that biology and botany would be a part of her education. Her new governess had more of a challenge getting her into proper evening attire than into the classroom, but Mary was very careful to no longer be the sour and unsmiling child she had once been, and she attended her etiquette lessons with as much patience and enthusiasm as she could muster. She felt a growing aspiration to attain the elegance she had seen in her mother. 

No longer a child but a young man, Dickon was obliged to earn an income for his household. It was obvious to everyone that he had a calling in zoology, and Colin and Mary had even taught him how to read, out of deep gratitude and in the hope that it might reap him the opportunity for a lucrative profession, but Dickon happily accepted a position as an under-gardener and stable boy at Misselthwaite. Colin heaped promotions and bonuses upon him – confident his father would back them – but Dickon only asked for a fair wage, permission to bring his animal friends to his place of employ, and eventually, that his sister Martha might join them for their daily long lunches in the secret garden. 

“I’m sorry, that’s too much,” Dickon retracted quickly upon seeing Colin’s hesitation. “I’ve overstepped my bounds.”

“Surely not,” Mary said to Colin shortly, frowning. She did not put on the airs of a Rajah as Colin did, but she could influence her cousin to any decision more and more with each day, and her uncle was as favorably-disposed towards spoiling her as he was his own son. In effect she was already the mistress of the house. “I should think any Sowerby would be welcome in our garden, especially dear Martha.” Martha’s exuberance and loquaciousness had annoyed Mary when she first came to England, but she now appreciated Dickon’s sister for her friendly warmth and cheerful temperament and considered her a friend.

But Colin’s hesitation was more embarrassment than anything else. He now found Martha to be quite lovely, with her round, pleasant face; her sparkling, smiling eyes; her bubbling, dynamic voice; and her pretty chestnut hair. Quite beautiful, even though she was a servant. He was embarrassed that she had bathed him, and that she had been witness to his tantrums and his weakness. He did not think he could feel comfortable around her. He was too embarrassed by the past, and knew he should also feel preoccupied with impressing her. 

But Mary was right. A daughter of Mrs. Sowerby and a sister of Dickon had every right to enter the garden, and if it would make Dickon happy then it would be given to him. 

Dickon and Martha’s younger siblings were finally of an age when they could mostly look after themselves, or at least the eldest ones were old enough to care for the youngest of them, so Dickon took up residence in the servants’ hall at the manor house as his elder sister had upon her employment there. He missed his home – his vegetable garden, his pony, his little brothers and sisters, and the moor – but it was expected of him, and even with the horse to carry him to and fro, the five mile journey simply took too long to make twice each day. 

The one good thing was that he saw more of Martha. The staff dined together in the mornings and the evenings, and before retiring to bed they had an allotment of time to socialize, which brother and sister chose to spend with each other, conversing and caring for his pets who would come out of the bushes when they saw him. Martha would tell him about her day, laughing at all that had gone wrong, and then she would listen while he did the same. He would break a small loaf of bread and they would toss crumbs for his raven and squirrel friends, and occasionally he would have some ham for the fox. If it was warmer or still twilit, they would stroll down to the stables so that Martha could say hello to the horses, who Dickon all knew intimately well by now. 

To see her every day made Dickon happier than anything else. The missing of her after she had first left to live at Misselthwaite had crippled him in a way. It had chipped away at his innocence. It hardly seemed fair that he should ever have to give up much. But he had gained some of it back, if by compromise. And now he was able to negotiate for more. 

Tonight he could hardly wait to tell her the good news. Before supper he found Martha talking with John, one of the footmen, and pulled her aside where the others would not be able to hear and waltzed her around in a circle.

Martha shrieked and then giggled as he swung her. “What has gotten in to you?”

“I’ve asked Mary and Colin if you might join us in the garden for lunch each day and they’ve said yes! They’ll arrange it with Mrs. Medlock. You’ll be able to stay for the whole time we’re there, just like I do, and you can eat with us!” 

He remembered Martha’s mouth-watering descriptions of all the food she had to serve but would never be able to eat, and now she could have all the fresh bread, blackberry tarts, boiled eggs, and baked ham she wanted. 

Martha’s jaw dropped. “With Miss Mary and the young Master? Oh no, I couldn’t!” She ran her hands along the sides of her skirt, as if her clothing were the least of things that made her unworthy. 

Dickon halted his dancing. His smile evaporated but he did not frown. “They’ll be pleased to have you. And lucky.”

Martha smiled at that, turning her head modestly. “I don’t think Miss Mary and Lord Colin want to be having lunch with the likes of me. They’re doing you a kindness. And the kindness you’re doing me is too great.”

Dickon kissed her on the cheek. “It’s nothing more than you deserve, Martha, and it’s no kindness if your company is my pleasure.”

Martha put the palms of her hands affectionately on each side of her brother’s face and smiled at him. “You truly are an angel just like Miss Mary says. I don’t know why an angel got himself born a Sowerby but we sure are blessed.”

Ben Weatherstaff called out of them as he and some of the other exterior staff funneled into the servants’ hall for dinner. 

Martha dropped her hands and frowned. “But what about the others? They’re a nice lot but they won’t have anything nice to say about a common housemaid who’s eating fancy meals with members of the house and lounging about in the gardens like she hasn’t got fires to set and china to polish.”

“Bother them if they’ve got a word to say against you, Martha, but as I see it, this house is filled with 100 locked rooms and if they’re under the impression you’re up there dusting those rooms then who is going to know whether that’s true or not? They’ll all need dusting again a week later anyway.”

“You don’t need to tell me about that.”

*********************

Dickon, Mary, and Colin were well-practiced in subterfuge from their days of keeping the garden and Colin’s working legs a secret, so they aided Martha in her escape from the house and led her on winding, circuitous paths to the secret door. 

“I’m sure I don’t know but I think I must be as excited about this as you were, Miss Mary, when the robin first showed you how to get in, and you, Master Colin, when you saw the garden for the first time.”

Colin and Mary smiled encouragingly at her as they pushed open the door, and held it widely open as she carried in the tray of food. Dickon had showed her the garden more than once before, and it was coming upon mid-autumn, but it was still a stunning sight and the others appreciated it when she gasped in delight. 

Dickon pushed her on the swing and she laughed in a way which she didn’t feel quite befit her 20 years, but it hardly seemed to matter in the garden. Everyone was a child there - that was part of its magic. “Even children who had never been children,” Colin explained to her, an expert on both the magic of the garden and not being a normal child. She listened raptly to his discourse while she stuffed her mouth with all the food Dickon would not stop handing to her. “How wise and well-spoken you are, Lord Colin,” Martha told him. “You will be lecturing in London some day in some grand hall, I’m certain of it.”

Colin beamed at her. 

Martha kept a wary eye on the sun and every few minutes she muttered nervously that it was time for her to return to her work but the others reassured her that it was not yet time to go.

Dickon showed her which plants were which, and which plants he had planted, and which ones had been planted by Mary and by Colin and by Ben. He knew the garden the way one would know their own chambers, and she felt overwhelmed by an appreciation for his skills and his love for the flora. 

“In truth I planted these for you,” Dickon whispered to her, pointing to a sector of snapdragons, which he knew well were her favorites. He had given her several bouquets of them over the past four years, and now she knew exactly where they had come from. 

“Oh they are lovely!” she cooed excitedly, bending down to smell them and to feel the soft petals.

“It’s their final bloom,” he said expertly. “But there should be even more stalks next year.”

Finally Martha knew she could stay no longer. She bowed gratefully and hurriedly to Mary and Colin, twirled to flash a smile at her brother, which, to him, seemed to last for an eternity, and then rushed out of the garden like Cinderella at midnight. 

*********************

It rained the next day – a gentle mist that was delicate as air but wet enough to prohibit any exterior activities. Colin and Mary lunched alone inside, reading and playing chess to relax, while Dickon and Mary were kept busy by their duties. 

“Don’t you dare, Dickon Sowerby,” Elsie, one of the other housemaids, said as Dickon, returning from the orchard, approached the door that headed down to the servants’ hall. She put her arm up to block the door, and then pointed down at his mud-covered trousers and shoes. “I’m the one as has to clean up down here and I won’t be hopping from footprint to footprint wiping up after you.”

Dickon smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Elsie.”

“Don’t you know the members of the house is the only ones allowed to track in mud?” This was an unmistakable impression of Mrs. Medlock, and Elsie’s feigned stern expression melted into a laugh.

Dickon had spotted Martha in the periphery of his vision, and he glanced over to where she stood by the eave to see if she was laughing. She was laughing, but not at Elsie’s joke – John the footman had her boxed against the wall and was recounting a humorous story - about silver polish, if Dickon had heard him right. His voice was intimate and quiet, and Dickon strained to hear what he was saying until he realized that meant he ought not be listening at all. John was leaning in, and it was clear the moment was meant to be private. 

“Dickon? Dickon?” Elsie was trying to get his attention. 

He turned quickly back to her. “What was that, Elsie?”

“I said if you take off those soiled shoes I’ll take them down to the washroom and get them ready for tomorrow.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t. I offered!”

“Right mess you are again, Dickon,” Martha laughed. 

Dickon turned his head sharply in her direction and saw that she had broken off from John. Dickon smiled. “Nothing better than good clean dirt.”

“Oh, clean dirt? Let me know when you see some of that!” Elsie replied. 

“Let’s get you tidied up,” Martha said, somewhat officiously, in Elsie’s opinion, as she stepped forward. She took Dickon’s hand and began leading him to the utility fountain by the other service entrance. 

“I-“ Elsie began, but they had already moved past her. John, was likewise bereft, and then two of them exchanged a puzzled look. 

“Thanks, Elsie,” Dickon turned back to say kindly before he and Martha disappeared around the corner. 

“That Elsie’s a pretty one,” Martha commented teasingly, pushing down on Dickon’s shoulders so that he would sit on the edge of the fountain. She kneeled on the gravel and began untying his laces. 

“I suppose she is.” Dickon studied his sister’s face. 

“Though you should have seen Miss Mary last night. Dr. Craven and several other guests came over for a formal dinner, and Miss Mary was all done up like a proper lady! Her hair looked ever so nice all piled atop her head and her green dress – I’ve never seen anything like it, so smooth and shiny like it were a jewel and not cloth at all. You should have seen her!”

“I don’t expect Mary would like me to see her like that.”

“You don’t think she would want to look pretty for you?” Martha raised her eyebrows. “Because that’s not my impression at all.”

“I don’t think she would want to remind me of her position in the house.”

“Your only position to her is that of friend. You can’t think she looks down on you! No one thinks higher of you than Miss Mary.”

“That’s what the trouble is, Martha. She’s growing up, she’s starting to see the world as it is, but she keeps pretending like it’s the world she wants it to be. Well, she’ll get set straight soon enough, by Lord Craven or by that governess of hers. She’ll be marrying some lord or lord’s son and leaving Misselthwaite.”

“Master Colin won’t like that one bit.”

“Or she’ll be marrying Colin.”

“Would you like that, Dickon?” Martha had pulled off his shoes, and before she stood she waited and watched him carefully. 

“Aye, if it was what she wanted, then it would please me greatly.”

“You wouldn’t find it a hardship?”

“No.” Dickon didn’t elaborate, but let his expression tell the rest of the story, and Martha saw that however great a friend Mary might have been, and whatever else she might have been to him if circumstances were different, he had never imagined her as his wife, and so he felt no pain, because there was nothing to let go of.

*********************

It was four days before the rain left, but the fifth was bright and warm and beckoned them our into the sun. For Martha it was much like her first day out with the young ones.  
She still marveled at the garden’s beauty. They played games – racing each other in one-legged hops, dodging the soft, leather ball they tossed back and forth, and then finally blindfolding each other and giving chase. Martha did poorly at the latter game – when blindfolded she could barely stumble her away around the still-unfamiliar garden, and when being chased she gave herself away almost immediately because she could not keep quiet. But when she had finally learned better it did not matter – Dickon found her right away and knew it was her even without reaching out to touch her. 

Martha ate herself full once again, more at Dickon’s insistence than her own instincts, and she stashed some extra food away in her pockets for her evening walk with Dickon to feed his pets. Some of his bird friends, and Mary’s beloved Mr. Robin, had been by earlier, but the only animal that now remained was Dickon’s cat Felicia, a shy black, orange, and white tabby that had appeared out of nowhere by the stables a few months back. It had taken Dickon over a week of feeding and gentle coaxing to be able to touch her, and it was an entire month before she began to follow him around. Now she accompanied him almost everywhere out-of-doors on the estate. She had a special place atop an upside down pot by the door where she slept while the silly humans played. It was when they pulled out their food that her ears perked up, and she slinked over to their picnic. 

She purred and rubbed against Dickon’s elbow expectantly. He scratched underneath her chin, and then fed her a sliver of bacon, which she licked once and then devoured. Unsatisfied, she cautiously ventured forth, sniffing distantly at Colin’s plate, and then at Mary’s napkin. Mary reached out, and Felicia, frozen in fear, accidentally allowed her to pet her scruff, but she gathered her courage and skipped away as Mary’s hand neared her tail.

Martha did not show the same ginger care in reaching out that Mary had, but Felicia accepted a second sliver of bacon from Dickon’s sister and then dropped down in front of her, exposing her belly nonchalantly, as if she had never had a second of fear in her life.

“Well, I must say!” Mary complained. 

Dickon laughed. 

“Cats are fickle,” Colin said comfortingly. 

*********************

It continued like this for several weeks. It was understood – or misunderstood - that Martha served the “children” their lunch and then spent the afternoon upstairs tending to the neglected guest rooms. On the days when it rained, or when Lord Craven joined his son in the garden, Martha would indeed dust the many unvisited upstairs quarters, moving as a whirlwind to earn her free hours. 

Dickon had the responsibility of looking after Lord Craven’s five dogs, who, to the chagrin of the staff, spent most of their time with him in his study. Three times a day Dickon was to take them out to run and relieve themselves, and even though a gardener - much less an under-gardener and part-time stably boy - had no place in the house in his rough clothes and muddy boots, Dickon always first slipped up an extra floor to visit his sister, who he knew got lonely in those endless, empty, lifeless rooms. He liked that about her. And he liked how happy she always was to see him, a grin on her face and a loving greeting in that sweet voice and tenderly familiar Yorkshire accent that they shared. 

But today she looked vexed as he came upon the open room at the eastern corner of the long corridor. “Ah, Dickon. What a nice surprise!” she acknowledged, noticing him in the door frame. 

“I come every day, don’t I?”

“You do, but it’s still nice, and since I never know quite when you’ll get here, it is a surprise.”

He stepped inside and put his hand on her shoulder. “What’s troubling you, Martha?”

“I’ve gone and dropped the feather duster behind the dresser. I can’t reach it from the side, and it has no legs. I don’t know why a person would need a such a titanic bureau, with drawers twice an arm’s length and weighing more than an elephant. A body couldn’t wear that many clothes in a whole year if they thought themselves too good to wear the same thing twice.”

“Oh, is that all?” Dickon replied, smiling at her reassuringly. He rapped his knuckles against the hard wood. “Quality.”

“It is that.”

Dickon couldn’t reach the implement either, but he was able to wrest the bureau forward. “Perhaps dusting is men’s work,” he teased, stretching his arm behind the dresser to grab the feather duster, and then swiping it across his sister’s face. She squealed and ran from him, and he chased her in circles around the room, threatening her with ticklish utensil. 

“You’re a knave!” she cried, turning a sharp corner and bumping into one of bed posts. 

“That’s no thing to say to someone who has done you a service! Ingrate!”

“I can do without your services!” she said, just as he caught her, his hand locking around her arm. He posed the feather duster dramatically in front of her face, but when he moved to brush her she ducked and twisted out of his grip. He lapped the room several more times in pursuit, until she collapsed supine, exhausting and heaving, onto the bed. He lied down on his side next to her, positioned up on his elbow, and then attacked her mercilessly with the duster. 

Laughter wracked Martha’s body and she fought him off blindly, until he finally took pity and lowered his weapon. 

She looked up and smiled at him, but he reached over to rearrange a few strands of her now-unkempt hair, and she found herself meeting his eyes and just staring at him instead. She wanted to say it was him who started staring first, but she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t even be sure that it had happened at all, for when she swallowed he roused instantly and handed her the duster, sitting up. 

Fall rains pounded against the roof, and wuthering winds tossed the drops against the side of the house. Only a dim light wandered in through the small window. It was an impressive view of the moor and he sat there silently gazing out the window while she brushed herself off and readjusted her cap. 

He felt…unlike himself.

“It’s a nice room, this,” he finally said. “Oversized dresser and all.”

“Yes,” she responded, uncommonly subdued, which unnerved him. 

“Don’t ever forget to look out the windows,” he reminded her, the sort of common sense advice that might have come from their mother. It made her smile.

“I never do,” she said. 

Her laconic replies made him fear he had disquieted her, and he was eager to flee, but he feared more leaving without having fixed the rupture. However, she scooted closer to him and began to animatedly point out trails and nests she had noticed on the moor during her tenure on the third floor. He didn’t have nearly as much time to wander the hinterland as he used to have, but he noted with great interest what she had observed and hoped he might have time to investigate at some point. 

“They’ll be wondering why I haven’t come for the dogs,” he sighed. 

She nodded. “You’re a right hero for coming to see me and for helping me with the bureau.”

“”Twas nothing.” He pushed it back into place.

“How strong you’ve become,” she noted appreciatively. At 16 he had remained boyish but he had aged greatly this past year. He was coming into his manhood. “Does hay weigh so much?”

“Aye. Wet hay does. And wheelbarrows of gravel or bricks.”

“Does Old Ben have you laying a brick wall?”

“We’re fixing the one by the orangery. It’s not proper gardener’s work but there’s only us to do it.”

“His Lordship has started taking an interest in the grounds. It’s good to see him coming out of his fog of grief, though I must say, we servants had the run of the house when he used to be away for months at a time. I might be missing that just a little.”

“Doesn’t seem too much of a change. All that noise we made – you hollerin’ and me movin’ this great hulk of wood - and no one’s come to check.” 

“Right you are, I suppose. Plenty of freedom up this way.”

He lifted his cap to her as a means of farewell, and it shocked them both how formal it was, and then he parted to retrieve Lord Craven’s dogs. 

********************

Their free day was that following Monday, and they went home to their family cottage as they always did. They took turns on Jump the pony for he was too little to carry them both the whole way – Dickon guiding him along to road while Martha bounced atop him, her arms wrapped around the horse’s neck for balance; or Martha keeping pace beside them. But they rode the last mile together: Dickon in back and Martha in front, her legs swung over the side. Dickon had one arm around her to keep her from falling off the edge in her tenuous position, and with his other he petted the pony encouragingly. 

“It would have been a nice day to be in the garden,” Martha commented, smiling up at the shining sun and cloudless blue sky. 

“This is nice too,” Dickon replied. 

Martha rested her hands on top of his and leaned back against him. 

Their mother welcomed them with kisses and long hugs when they arrived at the cottage, and then all 10 of their younger siblings lined up to do the same. Elizabeth Ellen was used to taking care of Jump, and she got some feed and water for the horse and tied him up, while Susan Ann began telling them every single thing that had happened her since she had lost seen her older brother and sister, and the others tried to climb up on Dickon’s back, or pull Martha in one direction or the other to show her something. 

They aided in various tasks around the house once the general excitement of their return had died down. Dickon inspected the vegetable garden and made some small repairs to the house, while Martha cooked and cleaned and laundered. 

The family ate an early dinner together, even their father, supplemented with some of the extra food Dickon and Martha had been able to acquire. And then they settled around the fire and talked about all that had transpired in the past month, and Colin and Mary, and life at the manor house, and especially about Martha’s lunches in the garden.

Dickon was very happy at Misselthwaite, but he felt so comfortable and serene with Martha and his family in their family home that he felt he should never like to leave. How easy it was to talk with them! He never had to explain anything. And how safe and intimate it was, with no one else to look upon them or listen to them. 

When he tuned back in to the conversation, he found that the topic had turned to him and Mary. “All the girls fancy him,” Martha teased, “from Miss Mary all the way down to Elsie the housemaid.”

“And quite right, too,” their mother said, nodding affectionately at her son. 

“What about you, Martha?” Dickon responded. “John the footman’s right courting you.” 

Martha looked at her brother in surprise. They stared at each other but it was interrupted by little Margaret beginning to cry. 

Martha and Dickon sent their parents to bed early so that for once they might get a full night’s sleep, and then sang lullabies and told stories to their little siblings until the entire house was peaceful and silent. 

It was past time they should have left to return to the manor house, but they stole a few minutes of repose by the dying fire. 

Dickon thought Martha looked very pretty in the firelight, and it seemed to him that he should like nothing more than to lie down beside her in front of it and sleep for days. She seemed to be thinking the same thing, and they smiled wistfully over the thought before rousing themselves for the journey back.

********************

There were a few days left of outdoor weather to be enjoyed before winter settled upon Yorkshire, though it was not quite the same with all of their bird friends flown south and all of the flowers dead. When their final day of lunching in the secret garden came, they all sensed it, but Dickon encouraged them to enjoy it rather than mourn the summer, and so they did. They spread a blanket over the grass and lied down all in a row – Colin, then Mary, then Dickon, and finally Martha – and looked up at the sky, finding shapes in the clouds. 

Colin, having read so many books about so many different things, was constantly recognizing objects and having to explain what they were. Mary saw flowers, Dickon animals, and Martha food, which caused them all to have a great laugh. 

“That doesn’t look like cheese to you?” she demanded playfully. “A nice slice of aged goat cheese?” 

“More like a goat than goat cheese,” Dickon argued, which caused them to roll their heads towards each other and laugh. 

“I think I should like to do something else,” Mary said, rising to her feet. A hint of displeasure was evident in her tone, and it quelled their laughter immediately. They sat up and looked around for another activity. 

Dickon noticed his sister wrap her arms around herself, and he took off his jacket and put it over her shoulders, leaving one arm around her. “There’s a bit of a winter chill today, I’m afraid,” he said softly to her. Martha leaned against him. 

“Is winter here, Dickon?” Colin asked, deferring to his expertise. 

“Looks so. It’s a cold sun, and there’ll like be frost tomorrow. The garden has gone to sleep.”

“Yes, I’m cold too,” Mary added, petulantly. 

Colin had struggled sharing her with Dickon, and now that Mary was sharing Dickon with Martha, she found she did not care for it either. He did not ignore Mary when Martha was present, but how could one be happy with less than half when one was used to so much more than that? 

The fact that Felicia continued to snub her did not help. That cat skirted Mary and then jumped in between the siblings and nestled in, her rear sinking down into Martha’s lap, and her head resting on Dickon’s thigh. 

“I expect it’s only because I smell like a mouse,” Martha said, noticing Mary’s frown, “all covered in dust like I am.”

“And your affinity for cheese!” Colin joked, which brought a smile even to Mary’s face. 

But Felicia was not the only pet of Dickon’s who favored Martha in a way it never favored the others, seeing Martha almost as an extension of her brother. It wasn’t just the way she smelled, or even her affable nature and disarming smile. They took their cues from Dickon himself, his body language and his tones of voice and the expressions on his face. He loved the others, but he also trusted Martha – wholly, implicitly - and they could sense it.

“I should like to swing one last time,” Mary said, taking her place on the seat and grabbing the rope with her gloved hand. “How far away spring seems right now,” she remarked sadly, glancing around at all the brown and grey. 

Martha nudged Dickon towards Mary, and understanding passed between them silently. Dickon rose, and went over to Mary to push her, while Martha distracted Colin and led him out of the garden so that Dickon and Mary might be able to speak alone. 

Colin was oblivious to Martha’s machinations, but it was clear he was aware that Dickon and Mary were alone together. Martha kicked the ball to him and he missed it because he was glancing so often back at the door. Martha ran over to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

He frowned at her in confusion but she only smiled knowingly. 

“Mary fancies Dickon,” Colin finally said, biting his lip. “She always has.”

“Don’t be troubled, Master Colin. Everyone is drawn to Dickon, that’s just his way. But Miss Mary is only 14. She’s got plenty of time left yet to fancy other things.”

“Do you think she might…do you think she might ever fancy me?”

“Why sure I do. You’re a fine gentleman in every respect and she already thinks the world of you. Give her time, milord. She’s still growing and learning, just like the rest of us.”

When Martha helped Mary undress for bed, Mary was very quiet. Her eyes were red, and Martha had to wonder whether she had teared up off and on during the evening. She forced an unwelcome hug on the girl before tucking her in, but it was returned before she pulled away. 

Martha asked Dickon later that night about what had been said, but he explained most of it with sad shake of his head and shrug of his shoulders. The two of them were wrapped up in half the clothing they owned, ambulating by the stables so that Dickon could check on the horses one last time before going to bed. He inspected each slot while she held up the lantern for him, and they discussed that afternoon as he slowly made his progress.

“It’s a hard lesson for a girl like her,” Martha said. “You can’t always have what you want. She had to learn it eventually. Better now than later. It was no good, her hoping for you, maybe even expecting it to happen. I know it wasn’t easy for you tell her but it was the right thing for her.”

“She’ll need some time. But she’ll be alright. She’s strong.” 

Having inspected the last horse, Dickon pulled on the large stables door and closed the two of them inside of it. It cut off the wind, and they both felt instantly warmer, but if cut off the moonlight as well and they could only see each other silhouette. Martha wasn’t surprised – they had gone there for refuge and privacy before – but it seemed darker and colder than it had ever been. She hung the small lantern and huddled closer to her brother where he was leaning against some empty shelves.

“I don’t think it would have been the same for her if she hadn’t met you, Dickon. You made her believe in something special.”

“That was all you, Martha. You were her first friend here. She told me how all the children on the boat whispered about how her uncle was a hunchback, and then how Mrs. Medlock had nothing nice to say about Misselthwaite or Yorkshire or her uncle, but then she met you, and you told her about how much you loved the moor, and about how much fun there was to had playing outside, and about me and my animals. It was you.”

Dickon put his hand on her cheek, and it was meant only to be there for a second, a gesture of emphasis, but there was a shadow across her face and he missed his target. His fingertips brushed her lips. And then he left his hand there, even though she had gasped at the touch. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, but still he did not remove his hand. 

Martha covered his hand with hers, and it was so quiet that Dickon could hear she had stopped breathing. One of the horses interrupted the tension with a loud neighing, and Martha inhaled sharply and then laughed with relief but Dickon’s attention had not wavered, and he planted a firm kiss on top of her laughing. 

Martha froze, shocked. 

Dickon completed the kiss, which was too long to be chaste but too short to be aggressive, and released her lips, but not the arm he had wrapped around her. 

“Oh, no…” she said softly.

Dickon felt his heart pounding, because for once he wasn’t quite sure what she meant by it. But then he laid her hand against his chest and added, “Oh no, we can’t,” and he knew that whatever he was feeling, she felt the same way. 

She pressed her face into his chest and he brought his other arm around her and held her close. 

*********************

Neither Dickon nor Martha slept a wink that night, but they were all shy smiles at breakfast despite the darker fears they were experiencing. Martha knew she should be ashamed. As little as she knew of the world, she knew this was wrong. But her overwhelming emotion was elation. Dickon wanted her. They could be together. They would find a way. 

“I wouldn’t have thought I could tell the difference but you’re in a fine mood this morning, lad,” Ben Weatherstaff commented after the two of them had been clearing out thorns for several hours. “If you like cutting away at this prickly devil bush so much I ought to let you do it all yourself.”

“I wouldn’t hardly know what to do without your expertise,” Dickon teased back. 

He hadn’t known he wanted to kiss Martha until the idea of it was so strong in his head that the felt as if he had already done it. It had all been so foggy before – that feeling in his chest when he looked at her, that aching when he saw her with John the Footman, how different it all felt when he thought about Mary or Elsie instead. And then it was suddenly so clear. 

The last hour waiting for the time he could leave to go get Lord Craven’s dogs was agony, but he ran all the way up to the third floor in hardly any time at all, and hastily found the open door to the bedroom with Martha inside. It was the same room as it had been several weeks earlier – the corner room with the big bureau and the small window with the perfect view of the moor. 

She blushed when she saw him standing there, panting from the exertion. He went in quickly and closed the door. 

“I’ve been thinking, and-“ he began, but Martha ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck and pulled his lips down towards hers. 

He was too breathless for it, and he had to push her away before she was ready, laughing and placing a final kiss on top of her head. 

“What is it you were going to say?” she asked. 

“I don’t think I need to say it anymore.”

“Well I’ve been thinking this could be sort of like our room. No one ever comes this way, and I’ve made all sorts of noise up here and no one has ever said anything. We could meet here sometimes. Just be to be alone,” she added nervously, so he wouldn’t think she meant any activity in particular. 

Dickon nodded. “Things don’t have to be different. That’s not what I want,” he said, taking her hands. “I just want to be with you.”

She smiled warmly at him, but then worry crossed her face. “But what about Mother? And Father? And Elizabeth Ellen and the others? What about Miss Mary and Master Colin? What about Mrs. Medlock?”

Dickon pulled her into a hug. “I don’t know, Martha. It won’t be easy. We might have to lie.”

“I don’t think I could lie to Mother.”

He ran his thumb comfortingly over the small of her back. “I know. Maybe we can tell her, eventually. Maybe Mary and Colin too, someday. I don’t know what will happen, only that we’ll weather it together. If we have to put this aside for the sake of everyone else, then we will. But for right now, it’s ours.”

*********************


End file.
